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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29572449">keep the balance / stay the moment</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightdotlight/pseuds/nightdotlight'>nightdotlight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s03e16 Altar of Mortis, Episode: s03e17 Ghosts of Mortis, Fix-It, Gen, Planet Mortis (Star Wars), Well - Freeform, leading into one</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:00:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,526</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29572449</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightdotlight/pseuds/nightdotlight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Anakin looks to his feet. Looks to the horizon. Looks at his former Master.</p><p>“One more day,” he pleads. “Just one more day.”</p><p>His best friend gives him a small, sad smile.</p><p>“One more day,” Obi-Wan agrees.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anakin Skywalker &amp; Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi &amp; Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi &amp; Anakin Skywalker &amp; Ahsoka Tano</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>160</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>keep the balance / stay the moment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>thank you to the lovely tori (@Writing_is_THORapy) for betaing! &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Obi-Wan looks at him with calm blue eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We need to leave, soon, Anakin,” he says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin looks to his feet. Looks to the horizon. Looks at his former Master.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One more day,” he pleads. “Just one more day.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His best friend gives him a small, sad smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One more day,” Obi-Wan agrees.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lightning flashes outside. Anakin Skywalker stands inside a cave in a cliffside and watches the electricity fall to the earth, a glittering arc.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It carves through the darkness and reminds him of something he forgot a long time ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There's a story in his head, he thinks. There is a memory, hazy and indistinct. There is a story, if he listens closely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Should he listen?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can’t think over the crash of thunder, the fear that flashes through him with lightning as if he himself were struck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan always told him not to dwell on the past. He has always listened to Obi-Wan, he wants to say, but for the little voice in him that whispers that </span>
  <em>
    <span>no you haven’t, Anakin Skywalker. Your choices have been made without thought of your Master’s words for so, so long.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wants— he </span>
  <em>
    <span>has wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be better, for a long time now. He has thought he was doing better.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Should he listen?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thought sounds like throwing all of that progress away. No toss of salt to ward away a demon, to stop evil from coming to his door and taking silence as invitation; but a waste of wisdom, of love given to him in advice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Should he listen to this memory?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s another thing that Obi-Wan used to tell him, when he was a Padawan fresh to the Temple, raging against his own instincts to fit in. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Listen to the Force, always, for it sees what mortal eyes cannot.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Do not dwell on the past.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Trust in the Force, above everything, Obi-Wan had said. Over everything. Over me, over the Council</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span> over the universe, if it tells you so. Listen to your elders, to your equals , to others</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span> listen to them always– but follow the will of the Force. Above all, that is your guide and guardian. It will be far wiser, far more knowing than I am capable of– and it will be with you longer than I can ever stay.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe if he cannot obey Obi-Wan, in this, he can listen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can listen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do not dwell, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Obi-Wan had said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>in the past. Do not cling to that which has passed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Listen to the Force,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he had said also.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Keep with you the wisdom given, but listen to the Force. Listen to it above all. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan is Anakin’s Master. His brother-in-arms. His teacher and companion and best, closest friend. But—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Force is All to Anakin. Guide, guardian, sire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And right now, it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>begging</span>
  </em>
  <span> him to listen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The question is asked again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Should he listen to the memory?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time, he hears it for what it truly is. A cry, a plea to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it says to him. Its voice is soft, gentle, beseeching. A parent to a child, Teacher to student.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The story, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it says. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please, listen to your memories. Listen to the story.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Force– it rarely reaches out. Rarely speaks so directly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right now, it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>begging</span>
  </em>
  <span> him to listen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin listens.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shmi used to tell him stories, but there was one she loved the very most.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The earth and sky,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she used to say. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They are what birthed this world. The sand beneath from which the first of us grew, thousands of years ago</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span> and the sky, which when our bodies took shape dropped its very own stars into our eyes, so that we may see and appreciate the beauty it had made for us.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The night sky is our parent, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she had said.</span>
  <em>
    <span> You more than most,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she’d also said, poking Anakin’s nose as he laughed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The sky itself granted you your mind, Ani. It filled your soul, when the world gave you to me. You are sand and stars and air, my son,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she’d said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You must remember not to be too much of one, lest you lose your balance between the three.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sand gives us stability,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she had said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We are born of it, here on Tatooine</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span> and those not born breathe enough of it to be as formed from it, our lungs full of this planet. We are warmth and shifting change, but we are also the foundation upon which all is built.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So, too, are we the sky, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she had then said, with the movement of her arm sweeping upwards, outwards, to the multitudes beyond. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We are the wonder that you see looking upward to the stars, and the beauty of constellations in the sky. We are dreams and stories; we are the night itself. We are limitless, expanding beyond our mortal selves to find the indfinities beyond every horizon.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And so, too,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she said finally— </span>
  <em>
    <span>we are the air, my little Ani. We are the strength that fills our lungs and the life-breath of every living creature. We are what lies between</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span> we are the beauty of sensation. We provide the world with what it needs to live, and each other with our own air and love.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>All three are needed, for us to live, Ani,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she had said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We must be every one, and each.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For to be only the sand is to be an empty being, a shell of a person– and to be only the air is to give ourselves away until nothing is left. To be nought but the sky, too, is a torture and a loss, because when we exist only as its reflection we lose all that makes us mortal.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You cannot be just one, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she had whispered. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You must find a balance, my darling– especially within yourself, for you are more than I, or anyone. You have more of the desert and sky and air in you than anyone else, my little Ani.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You must be careful to be all three,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she had said, with a small sad smile.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Please, find the balance. Be, and remain, all three. I do not think I could bear for you to lose yourself.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I will, mom,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’d said, with a yawn. His mother had smiled; with a laugh, tucked him into bed, and turned out the light.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The moment had ended.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lost to time, until now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Breaking from the reverie is like taking a breath of air after countless years without. His eyes open— it feels as if for the first time in eons, and—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something has changed, he thinks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The lightning storm has passed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or perhaps it is him that has changed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan comes to him in the evening, this time. Rests a hand on his shoulder. The warmth of it burns through his tunic, and for a second all Anakin wants to do is lean into it, to turn and cry into his arms as he did once upon a time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We must leave soon, Anakin,” he murmurs. “We are needed to return to the war.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he notices the way Anakin’s shoulders hunch and fall at the mention of the war, the way his head droops at the word leave, perhaps he thinks nothing of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Perhaps he doesn’t know how to bring it up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin doesn’t turn his head. Doesn’t risk meeting his friend’s eyes, for fear of what he might find there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For fear of what Obi-Wan might find in his own eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One more day?” he asks. Neither of them mention the way his voice stumbles across the words, cracking and breaking on the last syllable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan’s hand slowly leaves his shoulder. Its absence reminds Anakin acutely of the days after Geonosis, of the phantom chill where his arm used to be, and he has to fight the urge to lean back, reclaim the warmth and contact.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One more day,” Obi-Wan agrees. Soft. Gentle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unbearably kind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For your first test,” the Father says, “I instructed you to relinquish your guilt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have you done so?” he asks, and looks at Anakin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sensation of the Father’s focus is odd, something like being pulled apart and analysed, and for a second Anakin thinks that this must be what a pinned butterfly feels like under the microscope.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Father’s eyes finish their dissection, and his gaze moves onward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As I thought,” he continues, though Anakin never spoke an answer, never even thought of one. “You have not yet faced your guilt, Anakin Skywalker. As long as you refuse to, you will remain out of balance— and so, too, shall the universe.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“—can you?” the Father finishes. “If you are amenable, then I shall show you how to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When?” Anakin asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Father looks at him. It feels uncomfortably like being flayed alive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When you have made a decision,” he says. “If you choose to stay, then I shall teach you how to release your guilt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s an ultimatum. One that has been brewing for as long as he has been here, Anakin knows, and it may not be a surprise but it still hurts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?” he asks. The question is quiet— pulled out of him, almost unconsciously spoken.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why must you make your decision, before I teach you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Father smiles. “Because,” he says, and his voice is echoed by every star in the sky, every syllable made of something ancient and haunting, “you are in flux, Anakin Skywalker. The longer you stay here not as an intention, but as an extension of something accidental, the more uncertainty you create.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I am to teach you balance, it must be done from stability, from the knowledge that you committed to learning— not from the convenience of an escape from your war.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you understand?” the Father asks, and Anakin nods slowly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he says. He doesn’t notice how the last four syllables ring with the same timbre as the Father’s; how his voice is echoed by the same stars. “I understand.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The words feel heavy; on his tongue, they taste like lead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wonders if they are as poisonous.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be fine, as long as we stay together,” Obi-Wan says. The words ring in the Force in a strange way— not true, perhaps, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>significant</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin looks at his friend, looks at Ahsoka, and smiles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As long as we stay together,” he agrees.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The horizon is purple. From where Anakin sits on a bench, staring into the sky, it is abstract with the afterimages of a thousand faraway galaxies. When Obi-Wan arrives, closing the door behind him with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>click</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he stands up, turning to face his former Master.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We need to leave this place,” he says. There’s no preamble. They both know this dance by now: know the steps and the rhythm of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’ve gone through the motions every day for weeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The war waits for nobody,” he continues, gentle. “We must go, and fulfil our duties as Jedi.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hand finds Anakin’s shoulder. Somehow, Anakin realises, the warmth and weight of it has become home to him, over all their years together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he echoes. “We must.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan draws closer— draws level to him, then, his body like a furnace, warm and comforting both in the night air and Force.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hand settles more firmly on Anakin’s shoulder; his eyes search his former apprentice’s face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You do not wish to leave,” Obi-Wan says, and then, as if preempting a retort— “neither do I, Anakin.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This place is more peaceful than any we have been,” Anakin murmurs, and for a second his voice feels scratched raw and hoarse in its softness, the return to a natural cadence after endless years of shouting orders across a battlefield.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan’s voice drops, too, as he hums affirmation and voices his reply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is far more tranquil here than any other place we have visited, yes,” he says. “I can understand wanting to stay. But,” he says, and heaves a sigh, the sound rushing out of him like something inevitable, like regret— “we cannot forsake our duty for the sake of peaceful surroundings.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We must leave, soon,” Obi-Wan says, and at the drop of Anakin’s posture draws even closer to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan hesitates. One, two. Three, four. The second tick by in silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow, if we can,” he finally says. “At the very latest, three days from now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three days from now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Anakin chokes out. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three days from now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Obi-Wan says, calm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Uncertain</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Anakin’s mind supplies, and he pushes the thought away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he lifts his hand, turns to walk away, and Anakin is frozen. All of a sudden, the night air is </span>
  <em>
    <span>freezing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” he says. Obi-Wan stops with his hand on the door handle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I,” he begins, and then stops. Thinks better of it. Starts again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Father has been teaching me,” Anakin says, as Obi-Wan draws back closer toward him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have seen,” his former Master says. “Even over the past weeks, your progress has been astonishing, Anakin. I am very proud of how you have grown.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At any other time, Anakin would likely smile and duck his head at the words, preening at the approval of his former Master. Today, they cast a shadow over his face, cause a small grimace to tug at his lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan’s face reads of something startled and concerned at the sight of Anakin’s reaction; he reaches out again, a hand on his shoulder as he steps closer to better read his former Padawan’s face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong, Anakin?” He asks. His voice is— still calm, Anakin thinks, but— concerned. Worried, subtly, becoming more and more overt as his concern rises.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Today,” Anakin says, “the Father told me something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did he say?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He said— that I must let go of my guilt,” Anakin says. “That the only way to do so is to learn from him. That in order to learn from him, I must remain here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the last few words, Obi-Wan startles, face going carefully blank as he sits down heavily on the bench.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Remain?” His eyes are wide, shocked. In the depths of them, Anakin can see something like grief. “For how long?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin shrugs. “He didn’t say,” he chokes out, and flinches at the way his voice cracks on the last syllable. “He only said— that it was a commitment I had to make. That I would have to choose to stay here, and not return to the war.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did you say?” Obi-Wan’s face is impassive, but as Anakin looks he can see beneath the mask a current of some undefinable emotion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I asked him to allow me to think,” Anakin says. His eyes fix on Obi-Wan’s face, like he’s a Padawan again and he knows his Master has the answer to every problem, the word to soothe every pain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan doesn’t look like he used to, though. No longer in Anakin’s eyes is he a deity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This man has stood beside him through so much, over these past years. Has stood and fought and bled, taken step by step alongside him every mile of bloody land they have won.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He is no longer a superior, Anakin’s Master, a man without fault or failing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s Anakin’s companion; the steadfast man he fights beside. The kind man he trusts beyond any other soul.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin looks at Obi-Wan, and sees no deity: only his best friend. Fearful, and worried, and already grieving for some reason he can’t discern.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes are wide, blue, almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrified</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Mapping every inch of Anakin’s face, like at any moment he will be torn away by forces unknown and inexorable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To choose to remain here— to watch Obi-Wan and Ahsoka leave and return to the war, where Anakin cannot protect them— is unthinkable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You said three days,” he says quietly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Obi-Wan whispers. His voice is hoarse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin’s mind is already turning with solutions, with ideas and problems and plans. “I’ll talk to the Father,” he says. “I’ll learn all I can in the next few days. When it’s time to leave, I’ll come with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan looks at him steadily. “Okay,” he says. His voice is still hoarse even as he stands up, turning around and walking back to the door. When he opens it, the space beyond seems far more shadowy than usual, a chasm looming beyond the threshold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you tomorrow, Anakin,” Obi-Wan calls. “Please try and sleep, at least.” He doesn’t turn around as he speaks, too wary of what his face might say. Too afraid of what his eyes might show, and too aware of the way that light would catch his gaze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Drying tears are tacky to the touch; on skin, they have something of a dullness to them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unshed tears are like kyber. They catch the light.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All the same, Anakin knows Obi-Wan Kenobi.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can read clear as day the grief engraved into every line of his body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the first day, he goes to the Father.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>”He is in a room at the top of the tower,” the Daughter tells him. “There is a flight of stairs, and then three doorways. My Father can be found in the central door’s room.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have not yet reached a decision,” the Father says when Anakin finally steps into the room. It’s cold, and light; dawn filters in from an unknown source, and the breeze, though gentle, raises goosebumps and causes him to shiver.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Anakin says. His voice is level; his spine is straight. Neither of these things give him the balance he needs, but they let him stand upright, and that in itself is a victory when the thought of returning to the war makes his knees want to buckle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You must choose,” the Father says, the same as before. “If you are to learn the ways of the Ashla and Bogan, to face your guilt and truly understand the Force, it must be built on your own choice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To build something on inertia is to wish it to fall,” the Father says, staring at Anakin, and sweeps on ahead to the doorway. “I can teach you no more as things are currently. Only by making a decision can you progress, for choice is the lifeblood of the Force.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walks away, then, down the stairs, leaving Anakin to stare at his back, chest hollowed-out and aching.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is something building on his shoulders. He hesitates to give it a name.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the second day, Anakin comes across Ahsoka.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s practicing her lightsaber forms; even from around the corner, he can hear the telltale hum of plasma cutting through air. From the rhythm of it, it’s likely her jar’kai katas. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His Padawan took to carrying a shoto like a fish to water; her enthusiasm reminds Anakin of his at her age, when he performed a Djem So kata for the first time. The way it had just fit, the Force singing as he practiced the movement; he sees all of that in Ahsoka now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hope you set them lower for training,” he calls, walking around the corner.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the sound of his voice, Ahsoka starts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Master,” she calls, sardonic— and turning to him, lunges, her shoto coming in to guard as a green blade flashes towards Anakin’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He steps back. Draws his own lightsaber, pulls it up to block. Sidesteps his Padawan’s follow-up. The lightsaber is set lower: still, he feels the heat of it through layers of tabards and tunics.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin blocks, again, falling into Soresu. Attacks, three furious swings of his lightsaber. The use of Djem So is brief, quickly countered by his Padawan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He swings again, and Ahsoka somersaults over him, attacking from behind. Anakin blocks; his counterattack comes low, aimed at her legs. His Padawan slashes down. She expects a block, a counterattack, he realises—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin rolls out of the way, and she overextends, leaving her torso open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s blocking; but he goes in low. Moves in through that sliver of a gap, forcing her shoto out wide.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He jerks his wrist. The single movement sends it flying. Within a second, Anakin’s blade is levelled at her throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Solah,” Ahsoka says, disengaging her lightsaber before waiting for Anakin to lower his own from where it’s pointed at her neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was a good spar, Skyguy,” she says, grinning, and picks up her shoto, giving it an experimental twirl. “Up for another?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin doesn’t say anything. The adrenaline has faded away, and with its absence the melancholy has returned, seeping into every bone to weigh it down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ahsoka’s jovial expression falters, veneer of enthusiasm cracking to show worry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s the matter, Master?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin doesn’t say anything, merely sitting down on the grass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” she says, and prods him. “What’s up? Something’s obviously eating at you, I can hear you brooding from over here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hums.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” she says, and prods him again. Sits down on the grass beside him. “What’s up?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It reminds him of the Temple, almost. Spring sunlight on his back, warming him through the dark fabric of tunic and tabard, and in the Force the warm light of Ahsoka next to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If only he could feel the rest of the Jedi too, it would feel like family. Feel like home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has to remind himself he’s on Mortis.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin inhales. Exhales. “It’s the Father,” he says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighs. “I spoke to him, about learning his ways,” he says, making a valiant attempt to keep his voice level. “He said he cannot teach me unless I stay here.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay here?” Ahsoka looks at her feet, her presence in the Force coloured by something thoughtful. “Are you going to?” She asks, and though her voice is carefully level, Anakin can hear the plaintive note in it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But— what will happen to the 501st, if you’re not there? Will they be reassigned? Who will teach me?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looks at Anakin, eyes wide as saucers, and suddenly he is 20 again, a new Padawan in front of him, this </span>
  <em>
    <span>youngling.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A </span>
  <em>
    <span>child</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he’s supposed to take care of but that only seems to worry for his approval, whether he’ll send her back or not, despite every threat to her own safety.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Calm down, Snips,” he says. He’s never been great at reassurance, but— he can try. For his family, he’ll always try. “Calm down. I’m not staying here. I’m leaving with you and Obi-Wan, and I wouldn’t leave unless I was sure I’d be coming back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ahsoka looks at him again, eyes wide, and nods. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s— probably good, Master,” she says. “I mean, I’d miss you if you stayed, and so would Master Obi-Wan. I bet other people would, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s an impressive attempt at regaining her composure. Even if it doesn’t fully work, Anakin lets it be. His Padawan is good with her emotions; better than he ever could have taught her, really, and he’s proud of her skills, though he can’t take credit for them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So— Anakin just smiles, and stands up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, Snips,” he says, igniting his lightsaber and giving it an experimental twirl. “Since I’m coming back with you and Obi-Wan, let’s get another spar in today. Then, once we’re back on Coruscant, we can gang up on the old man during training, how does that sound.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His Padawan smiles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good, Skyguy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mother had told him: </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen to your heart. Be sand, and air, and sky.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan had told him: </span>
  <em>
    <span>your closest companion is the Force. Listen to it above all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin listens to the sky, and air, and earth from where they lie. He listens to the Force. The four things wage a battle inside him, a great conflict unlike any ever fought in this galaxy, any galaxy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The war-clamour makes a noise; shapes those noises into words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He listens as best he can.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Ahsoka says, after they’ve finished sparring. “Hey, Master.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Snips?” Anakin looks over, sitting down on the by-now summer grass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know— it would be okay, right?” She starts, sounding unusually hesitant. “If you wanted to wait, before coming back, and stay here for a while. I mean—” she breaks off— “I’d miss you, and so would everybody else— but Master Obi-Wan or Master Plo could train me, right? While we waited for you to come back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And— maybe it wouldn’t take long at all. Maybe you’d be back right away. But even if you weren’t, if it took a long time— we’d miss you, and we’d think of you, but it wouldn’t be forever, right?” She looks at him then, something plaintive in her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So it would be okay, because you’d come back. It would be kind of like when I have to stay at the Temple for an exam, or when Master Obi-Wan is stuck in the medbay. We’d miss you, but you’d come back, so it would be alright.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess, Snips,” he says, and offers her a weak smile, one that she returns.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can tell you want to stay,” she says in a weak voice. “I don’t want you to give up something this important for my sake.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin sighs. “I do,” he admits. “But— Snips? I want you to understand that you’re my priority, Ahsoka. You’re my Padawan, and you should never feel guilty for me prioritising you. It’s my responsibility, and my privilege to do so.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His apprentice nods slowly. Then—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Master?” She asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, my little Padawan?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you stayed—” she fumbles over the word slightly— “would you be able to come back? After you were done here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin shakes his head. “No, Ahsoka,” he says, quiet. Heavy. “No, I don’t think I would.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” his Padawan says. “Oh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing is said after that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the third day, the Daughter finds him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s sitting, trying to meditate. Trying being the operative word— no matter how he tries, peace eludes him, the force strange and crystalline where usually it is molten glass, a supernova to the eyes and touch but readable, somehow. Malleable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mortis is different in a way he doesn’t care for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, he is vaguely aware when another presence approaches him, slipping out of the meditation to open his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s the Daughter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You look sad,” she says. Her voice echoes, oddly, like it had when she had first talked to him. “What is the matter?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why do you ask?” Anakin asks, already defensive. “Why would you care?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looks at him. Doesn’t react; suddenly his emotional reaction seems quite foolish, immature.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are the One,” she says. “You are a brother to me, just as my Brother is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Anakin asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eyes seem to burn through him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are the One. I am the Daughter. My Brother is the Son. We are all as the same,” she says, calm. Her voice echoes through the leaves and earth around them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand,” Anakin says. Then—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is as she says,” a new voice enters the air, and Anakin looks around to see the Son settling on his other side. ”I am the Son— she is the Daughter. You are the One,” he says, calmer than Anakin has ever seen him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We are all the same. You could be like us, one day— and we were like you, once,” the Son explains.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Realisation is slow to dawn, like winter sunlight. The knowledge encroaching on the corners of Anakin’s mind feels— warm, uncomfortably so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It reminds him of the Force. Reminds him of how it had felt, when he was little.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” He asks. ”I don’t understand,” and it’s as much a plea as it is a statement, the last cry of a child afraid of change that no, I do not wish to grow up, for this adult mind I have been given is full of doubt and recrimination and I am more afraid than I have ever been, and—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows it’s unavoidable. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We cannot stop change any more than we can stop the suns from setting,</span>
  </em>
  <span> his mother had said to him, and her words had always rang true.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We were human; or as human as you are,” the Daughter says. “Anakin Skywalker. Child of the Force.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It feels like the moment before dawn, the false light spreading.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We are the same as you,” the Son adds, and Anakin can feel sunlight on his back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And we were like you, once.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun rises, and with it Anakin knows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then—” he chokes on his words, the surprise and strange fear that rises— “I’m like you— a Force Wielder?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Daughter smiles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not yet, perhaps,” she says, and it could be Anakin’s imagination but that her voice sounds warmer, more human. “It took my Brother and I– several centuries under our Father’s care to become as we are now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you are already beginning to change,” says the Son. ”You sound as he does, sometimes, when you talk— have you noticed?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So— yes,” the Daughter says. “With time, you could be a Force–Wielder, and a powerful one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It sounds like fulfilment. Sounds like destiny, and Anakin— for a second he wants it, more than anything. Wants that belonging, and the power, and the calm these beings seem to even breathe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But— there’s a caveat, the Force warns.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>”If I did,” Anakin broaches, hesitant, “I assume, then, that I would have to stay on Mortis.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>”Yes,” the Daughter says, flat and without equivocation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Forever,” Anakin says, hoarse, and his thoughts fill with Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Padmé. The Jedi. His family, and—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could never do it. Could never abandon them to fight a war, while he remains here, at peace, protected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is not the Jedi way. It is not Anakin’s way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he did it—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would tear him apart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Brother coughs, lightly. Seeing he has Anakin’s attention, he begins to speak.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not necessarily,” he clarifies. “When our Father brought us here,” he says, “it was because he could not both control and protect us, out in the galaxy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are the One; a natural balance point. Perhaps, if you were as us, a Force-Wielder— we would be balanced, without need of our Father’s interference.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something rings in the words, and Anakin can’t tell whether it is the natural cadence of Force-Wielders or something different. Still, he thinks, and answers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But I would have to stay here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps,” the Daughter says, and looks him in the eye. “That is what some prophecies say.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t agree with them,” the Brother says. “Neither does my Sister, though she dares not say it outright.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Daughter hums.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Prophecies can say anything, if you wish them to,” she says. “My reading differs.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. You would not have to stay on Mortis, forever.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then she stands, and with her brother walks off; and Anakin is once again left alone with his thoughts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s walking back to the monastery when the Father approaches him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you see, now, why I wished to teach you, and for you to stay here?” The Father sounds— unbearably old. “Because I love my children, no matter how they bicker— I taught them all that they are.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I am growing old,” the Father says with a heavy sigh. “I cannot control them as I used to, which is why I hoped for you to do so in my stead, or balance them otherwise. Perhaps if you were to stay and learn, it could someday happen. Otherwise,” and he sighs again, something low, a mourning cry, “I do believe the only solution would be for all three of us to die.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Could you do it?” Anakin asks. “Could you kill them, if you needed to?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Father sighs again, deep, and looks at him with the saddest eyes imaginable. “I am their Father, Anakin Skywalker,” he says. “For that reason alone, I am truly sure that I do not know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan slips into his room at the cusp of twilight, like so many times before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We leave, tomorrow,” he says, and something in his tone rings hollow. The sound is sadness, Anakin realises. Grief.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s the same sound that had rung in Obi-Wan’s voice three days ago, when Anakin announced he would leave with his former Master and current Apprentice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Master,” Anakin begins. Stumbles, on the next word. “I,” he says, quiet, the sound petering out into silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know how to say this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It needs to be said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you ask for one more day, Anakin, I am afraid I might have to check your head for brain worms,” Obi-Wan says, his attempt at levity falling somehow flat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You do remember, don’t you, that we agreed to leave tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Master,” Anakin says, automatic, and then—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you think,” he begins, but it’s not right. In his mouth, the words taste sour, empty; they linger on his tongue like something you wish to forget the texture of.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It may never be right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It has to be said.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What, Anakin?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes a breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Daughter told me, today,” Anakin says, “how she and her brother came to be here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They were like me, once, Master,” he says, and turns to look at the man who trained him— whose eyes are so wide as to see the whole universe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They were like me,” he says again, trying, begging Obi-Wan to understand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They were like you?” His master’s voice is hollowed-out, empty, and for just a second, Anakin feels the same lack echo in his chest with the knowledge that no, Obi-Wan does not understand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His master is all-knowing, ever-accepting; but this time even he does not understand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Daughter, she told me,” despite the falter of his voice, Anakin rushes on, “that </span>
  <em>
    <span>she was like me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Master. That her brother was like me. That the Force was too much, too bright, that on the inside they burned like suns— like </span>
  <em>
    <span>I do.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last words come out in a rush, tripping over one another to leave his throat in desperation. He takes a breath to steady himself, and continues.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She— they both said, really,” he can’t bear to look at Obi-Wan as he says it, as he delivers the blow, “that maybe if I stayed, they could help me control it. That it could become something— not this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I burn like a star on the inside, Master. I can’t look inwards for fear of blinding myself. They said that with guidance, it could become something useful. That with practice, it could help people.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can only bear to glance at Obi-Wan’s face for a moment, turning his eyes up from the ground.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He regrets it immediately.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You intend to stay,” he says to Anakin, and it’s not a question. His face is blank, eyes hollow, but despite its shaking his voice is still so deeply, unbearably kind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan takes a shaky breath. “You’ll have to give me your lightsaber, of course,” he says, and looks away. “If you intend to stay here, it will be necessary for you to rescind your title as a Jedi indefinitely, and—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Master,” Anakin says, and then, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Master.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan turns his head to look at him, eyes pained. “It’s– your life, I know,” he says, quiet. “I taught you that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But if you really are to stay– Anakin, you must understand that if you choose to stay, you will no longer be a Jedi. Your commitment will not be to the Republic, but to the beings here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will keep it safe, I promise,” he says, aching, quiet. “It will not come to harm in my care.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His voice is low, every word hanging heavy in the air with grief, with some form of weeping catharsis, and Anakin has to stop him. So—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Master,” Anakin says. When Obi-Wan turns to look at him, he begins to speak.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Daughter told me,” he says, level against the grief in his friend’s eyes, “that if I choose to stay, it doesn’t need to be forever.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan looks at him, then. For the first time in days, it seems, a shroud has lifted from his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” he asks, something frantic under the words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can stay, but it doesn’t have to be forever, Obi-Wan,” Anakin says. “I can stay here, and learn from the Father, but once I’ve learnt all I can, I can choose to leave Mortis, if I wish.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His friend’s eyes narrow. “If you wish?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I wish. If it’s safe,” Anakin says. “The Son and Daughter can come with me, if need be; I already have more control over them than the Father, and with his guidance I’ll be able to protect them when we’re outside Mortis.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll stay, but it doesn’t have to be forever,” he says again, and Obi-Wan’s face looks almost like the sun is dawning. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I can come back.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mortis’ sun dawns amber over the east horizon. It brings with it spring, Anakin realises, looking to the delicate green wood of new growth, the peek of purple petals above the ground.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spring, and time to say goodbye.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan doesn’t wait until the sun is fully risen from its rest to knock on his door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three taps, one after another— and doesn’t that hurt. Isn’t it galling, somehow, to Anakin, that even after so many years of sharing a space, his best friend asks to come in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan has always been welcome in his space.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Choosing to stay here doesn’t change that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His Master is family. He never needs to worry about being let in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he steps in, Obi-Wan’s tired eyes are bare to see, far too obvious for someone usually so well put-together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anakin,” he says. His eyes fix on the floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walks a metre into the room, and stops.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The shuttle is almost ready to leave,” Anakin’s best friend says, quiet. “I’ll wake Ahsoka up soon. When she’s ready, we’ll be heading off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s it, then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is where they separate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We’ll be fine, as long as we stay together, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Obi-Wan had said, when they first landed on Mortis.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, he moves closer, and looks at Anakin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a very particular look in his eyes. Grief.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s the same look as he had worn three days ago, Anakin realises. Obi-Wan—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His friend knows him all too well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d known before Anakin did, that he was going to stay. He’d seen it, somehow— whether through the Force or Anakin himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You knew,” Anakin whispers. “You knew I was going to stay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you say anything?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His Master smiles. It’s something small, and sad, and bright. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Infinitely kind. Infinitely wise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It deserved to be your choice,” he says, quiet. “Even if I knew you well enough to see what would happen— it was still your choice.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I suppose I wished it wasn’t true,” he says. “You were my Padawan, once— and continually, I find it difficult to move past that. The urge to keep you close by, so that I may protect you, though you have become a fantastic Jedi and a formidable Knight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But, Anakin—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Master?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan smiles, even as tears brighten his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am proud of you, Padawan,” he says, “for making this choice.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am so very proud of you,” he says, and when Anakin steps forward towards him, tears streaming down his cheeks as they did when he was nine, he opens his arms, and holds him just as tight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Master?” Ahsoka, eyes still tired from the early hour despite having been up for several already, stares at him from the ramp of the Twilight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why aren’t you dressed to leave?” she asks. Then, “there hasn’t been a problem, has there? We’re still leaving, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Snips,” Anakin says. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smiles. “Thank the Force,” her voice is light, seemingly picking up on Anakin’s mood. “I don’t think I’d be able to handle another couple of weeks on such a weird planet.” She gives an exaggerated shiver, bringing a smile to Anakin’s face. “Anyway, Master Obi-Wan’s waiting in the cockpit, so as soon as you’re ready, we can set off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her face is bright– happy at the thought of returning to the Resolute, later to the Jedi Temple and home, and Anakin isn’t sure how to say this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Snips,” he says. “You’ll be setting off in a couple of minutes, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her face stills. She looks at him, something acutely wary behind her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Without me,” he says, quietly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re staying?” Ahsoka can’t quite hide the surprise in her voice, the subtle hurt. “I thought you were coming back with us?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about our sparring match?” She asks, and something in Anakin’s chest twists painfully at the desolation in her voice. “You said— you promised we’d gang up on Master Kenobi together.” Her eyes are wide, and blue, and so sad that for a moment Anakin is tempted to lay it all aside. To say no, it’s okay, and return with his Padawan to Coruscant. To have the sparring match as planned. To rejoin the war. To leave Mortis behind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows that if he did, he would spend the rest of his life regretting it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And his Padawan would spend the rest of her life feeling guilty.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So— he stands his ground, and holds his conviction so tightly that his knuckles turn white.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did, Snips,” he says, and quickly, “I did. And we’ll still have that match, I promise. But I thought about what you said— and I talked to the Father.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to stay here, and learn— and when I’m done, when I’ve learnt all I can, I’ll leave Mortis, and come back. Like a meditation retreat,” and here he smiles, “or like when you need to stay at the Temple for an exam.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Obi-Wan will look after you in the meantime,” he says, “until I can return, okay? I know he can be grumpy, but he taught me well– and he’ll look after you too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll come back, right?” Ahsoka’s face is pointed at the ground, but her voice is shaking slightly. When she looks up at him, her eyes are wide and slightly afraid. “You’ll come back?” she asks, and Anakin doesn’t want to abandon her to uncertainty, but—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ahsoka is too smart to not see through a comforting smile in an instant. That’s not what she needs him to say.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I can,” he promises. “If it’s right to do so.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nods. Takes a breath; squares her shoulders quickly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll miss you, Skyguy,” she says. Anakin pretends not to hear the tremble in her voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, he tugs her forward and hugs his Padawan, not mentioning the way her shoulders begin to shake as she wraps her arms around his torso in return. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she steps back, her face is wet; Anakin doesn’t ask, doesn’t say anything about it. It’s all too clear, the source of her tears; asking wouldn’t help her, here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll make you proud, Master,” she says. Her voice is choked with tears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin smiles, regardless of the tears that fall down his cheeks in a mirror of his Padawan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You already have, my little Padawan,” he promises. “You already have.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have regained some balance, in your conviction,” the Father says. “Your choice to remain here grants you stability, a solid foundation upon which to learn the Greater Arts of the Force.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now, Anakin Skywalker, you will accompany me to the site of the first test,” the Father says, and turns away, beckoning Anakin to stand level with him as he walks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You may be the One; but before you can rise to a true mastery of yourself, I have a great deal to teach you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With each step, stars appear in the sky, a cosmos at Anakin’s fingertips just as he once pictured in childhood dreams. A tapestry of nebulae, in shades of indigo and blue and the deepest gold, stars stretching between horizons like beads stitched into the fabric of the sky itself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like one of Padmé’s gowns, he thinks, the stars— and beyond them, the bright blue of a distant galaxy whose colour unmistakably belongs to Obi-Wan’s eyes. That green nebula in its arc across the sky is Ahsoka’s lightsaber slashing, practicing jar’kai in the salles, the indigo next to it the paintwork on Rex’s armour as he joins Obi-Wan to watch over her— and the velvet dark in between is his mother’s hair, tied at the base of her neck as she used to style it for work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It reminds him of how being in the Jedi Temple felt, before the war. Like being surrounded by a thousand stars, each humming with awareness and family. It reminds him of home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mortis isn’t home, but— perhaps it could be, someday.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One star is especially bright, bringing his eyes to fix upon it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wonders if it’s truly a star; or the light of a star destroyer, thousands of lightyears away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wonders which ship it is; who it belongs to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow, he thinks he might know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m coming, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he whispers to the brightest star in the sky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just wait for me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>feel free to come yell at me on tumblr at <a href="https://nightdotlight.tumblr.com"> nightdotlight!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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